Gracie Abrams is eking out a solitary existence, fighting day-in, day-out against the drain of working customer service and nursing two newborn kittens in her off time. Out on her own ever since her sister moved in with her boyfriend, the burden of...
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I started around the bed, noticing the sheets and covers splayed on the ground and tossed into a giant snake of bedding. It rested against the boxes piled against the bare window, letting in the slightest of glows from the streetlamp.
Kakashi laid on the ground, his giant form flat on his back. His face was scrunched up tight, that damn mask still covering his mouth.
In panic, I watched as his hands vied at the air, struggling to grasp onto something. It almost looked like he was running as his body waved from side to side. With a rush, those hands grabbed his throat, futilely trying to tug the mask down his chin.
I hopped onto the bed, trying my best to be quick and quiet all at once. Leaning my forearms against the side of the mattress, I lowered my body, untucking one arm to gently make its way to that blasted face mask.
Though he thrashed about, at the first touch of my fingertips on his nose, he went utterly still, that brow still creased in a deep, ruffled line.
It almost felt like someone else's fingers were slightly moving under the skin-tight mask, edging the diagonal across his nose and pulling it slowly down to rest below his chin.
His skin was so hot—and smooth. As my fingers slid under the very edge of that firm layer of fabric, I couldn't help but notice the smoothness of his pale, supple cheeks. That hot, sweaty stickiness of his skin that reminded me of pastries set out from the oven, still hot enough to melt away on your finger.
Kakashi in real life was already more than handsome with the facemask on, but now, with his face finally bared before my eyes, I couldn't help my racing heart.
There had to be a limit to how attractive one person could possibly be.
Those thick, dark lashes squeezed tight in the terror of his nightmare. That pale skin, riddled with the pores of a living, breathing person. Each cheek drawn high and yet rounded, creating an almost boyishness to his face that he hadn't yet lost in his mid-twenties. Even the pale skin of his lips—almost purple in the dim light from the streetlamp—were too perfect. No dried skin darkening the middle of his lips, no cracks ruining their surfaces.
And let's not forget that damn beauty mark, the tiny little dot that added just the right amount of teasing playfulness on an already-beautiful visage.
I felt like an ogre in comparison, with my acne scars, giant pores, and chapped lips. My face lined from all the hours a day I spent frowning when nobody looked at me. My brows that were only ever trimmed half-heartedly—a sin for a single woman.
Kakashi's body breathed easier, but the moment my fingers left the collar of his mask, the stillness disappeared, too. He shook his head, those arms reaching toward something and nearly knocking me in the eye before I quickly rolled away.
